


Everything's Another Excuse (To Keep From Doing From What We Want To)

by sunsetmog



Category: Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: M/M, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-divorce fic. Brendon and Jon try to work things out.</p><p>"They never lied, they never said they were friends when they <i>weren't</i>, but it's not like they call each other up and hang out together any more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything's Another Excuse (To Keep From Doing From What We Want To)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cmonkatiekatie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmonkatiekatie/gifts).



> Written for cmonkatiekatie for the drawn_to holiday fic exchange. I hope you like it, my dear!
> 
> Big thanks to ashlein and reni_days for all their help, and to reni_days for the beta. Any remaining errors are my own. Title comes from the We Are Scientists song, This Scene Is Dead.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/47519.html) on 8th December 2009.

~*~

 

Brendon waits until Spencer's left the house before he tugs his phone out of his back pocket and calls Jon.

"Hey," Brendon says, as soon as Jon picks up. "So, is Ryan being a pissy bitch? Because Spencer's being a dick because he's missing Ryan, and I figure I should at least check to see if Ryan's the same."

"Brendon -" Jon says, but Brendon doesn't let him speak.

"Spencer's being all, you know, stupid about it and pretending like he's not missing him, or whatever, but he is, so. I'm kind of hoping Ryan is too."

There's a long pause, and Brendon thinks about saying something else, but it's not like he knows what to say to Jon now anyway. He taps his fingers against his leg and waits.

"Why didn't you just call Ryan?" Jon asks, after a minute.

"Because," Brendon says. "I figured he'd lie, just like Spencer's lying. He does miss him, right?"

"No," Jon says. "I mean. He probably does, but he's not saying."

"Figures," Brendon says. Ryan has always kept that kind of thing quiet. He gets spiky and antagonistic, which is kind of enough of a clue, but not enough to actually base a conversation around.

"So..." Jon says. "You want to, what? Figure out some kind of rescue mission?"

"No," Brendon says. They never lied, they never said they were friends when they _weren't_ , but it's not like they call each other up and hang out together any more. Brendon hasn't spoken to Jon in forever, and Ryan in longer. "Spencer's kind of miserable, that's all."

"Oh," Jon says. "Okay."

"Maybe, Ryan could, like. Call him or something."

"Or Spencer could call him." Jon sighs. "Just a thought."

"Right," Brendon says. "So this was kind of a waste of time. I guess." He sighs.

"No -" Jon trails off. "I'll talk to him," he says, finally. "Sound him out."

"Yeah," Brendon says. He lets out a long breath. "Awesome."

After he hangs up, he wanders around the house for a while before heading out onto the deck. There's a patch where Spencer screwed up with the waterproofing; the wood is the wrong color and he rubs at it with his toe. His chest feels kind of weird; tight, like before they head out on stage some nights. He caves, and calls Spencer to see if he'll bring home burritos.

Wherever Spencer is, it's loud, and Brendon has to wait until Spencer goes outside before he can make himself be heard. Spencer's out at a bar, and he tells Brendon to come down and hang out, play some giant Jenga and have a beer.

Brendon grabs his wallet and his keys and heads out.

~*~

 

Jon calls him back two days later.

"So," he says, when Brendon picks up. "I talked to Ryan."

"And?" Brendon's out walking Bogart. He has his leash in one hand and the phone in the other; Bogart's racing around the dog park excitedly, barking a lot and trying to make friends with a doberman. Brendon would be worried if Bogart didn't try to make friends with him every other day. He waves at the doberman's owner, a stout old lady with masses of curly hair. She waves back, and bends down to pet Bogart.

"And, I don't know," Jon says. "I mean, I guess? But it's not like -" he stops, breathing a little loudly.

"It's not like they ever told us they were sleeping together anyway," Brendon rolls his eyes. "I know."

"Do you think it was serious?" Jon says, after a moment. "I mean, they never said. I just figured."

Brendon shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know," he says. "It was going on long enough."

Neither of them say anything, and Brendon concentrates on Bogart, holding the phone away from his mouth so he can whistle and call Bogart over.

"How's Bogart?" Jon asks, as Brendon clips the leash onto Bogart's collar.

"He's good," Brendon says. "He tried to make friends with an Irish wolfhound last week."

Jon hisses out a laugh. "And?"

"And, he almost got stepped on," Brendon says. There's a pause. "Is Marley okay?"

"Yeah," Jon says. "Keeps rolling in shit."

"Stop taking him out in the woods," Brendon tells him.

"Yeah," Jon says. "I'll talk to Ryan again."

"Okay," Brendon says. He waits a moment, listening to Jon breathing, steady and familiar. "I guess I'll talk to you later, then?"

"Sure," Jon says, and there's too long a pause before he hangs up.

Brendon stares down at his phone for a moment before sliding it into his pocket. He feels tense and wound up, stretched out and uncomfortable. He rolls his shoulders and tugs a little on Bogart's leash.

They run back to the car, Bogart with his tongue hanging out and panting, Brendon sweating and hot. He fumbles around under the seat, trying to find his water bottle, taking a gulp and pouring some into a bowl for Bogart to lap up before they leave.

"Come on, boy," Brendon says, once they're done. "Up you go."

Inside, he stares at his phone for a moment before dropping it on the passenger seat and sliding his key into the ignition.

~*~

 

Brendon calls Jon up after he gets a text message from a tech guy that had once toured with Panic and was now out with TAI.

"Hey," Jon says. "So I talked to Ryan again."

"Uh-huh," Brendon says. "When did you break up with Cassie?"

There's far too long a pause. Brendon's palms itch. "How do you know that?" Jon asks. "Actually, fuck that, everyone was going to find out eventually."

"Phil told me," Brendon says.

"Phil-just-a-blow-job-Phil?" Jon asks. "You still talk to him?"

Brendon hums. "Sometimes," he says. "We were friends before the whole, you know, blow job thing."

"Baby's first blow job," Jon says, softly.

"Fuck you," Brendon says. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"About Cassie?" Jon inhales. "No," he says.

"Oh," Brendon says.

"Brendon -" Jon says. "I mean. It's not like we talk."

"We talk," Brendon says. "We're talking now."

"Brendon," Jon says again. "Don't."

"Fine," Brendon says. "You broke up. Whatever. It's not like I _care_."

"Fuck you," Jon says.

Brendon's eyes sting. He doesn't say anything. Downstairs he can hear Spencer moving around, the sound of the stereo and Spencer singing along in the kitchen.

He hangs up.

~*~

 

Spencer's eating a sandwich on the couch when Brendon comes downstairs. His laptop's on the table in front of him, and when he sees Brendon he moves over and offers him half his sandwich.

"It's BLT," he says, "but without the L and the T, because we need to go to the store."

"Awesome," Brendon says, and holds his hand out. He waits until Spencer's taken a bite before he says, "So, how long were you and Ryan having sex, anyway?"

Spencer chokes. "What?" he manages.

Brendon shrugs. "I was wondering," he says. "Figured we could, like. Talk about it or whatever. For a change."

Spencer wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and watches Brendon levelly for a minute. "What, you figured you'd wait until I was eating before dropping that on me?"

Brendon shrugs again. "How old were you?" he asks, finally.

Spencer sighs. "I was seventeen the first time," he says, finally. "I was seventeen, and Ryan was eighteen. That what you wanted to know?"

"Fuck," Brendon says. He stares down at his sandwich, and feels kind of weird. They'd kept it a secret for years.

"It wasn't like it was a _thing_ ," Spencer says. "It just happened a few times, that's all. No big deal."

"You just fell on his dick," Brendon says, and picks at his sandwich. "Over and over again. Yeah, I get that."

"Brendon," Spencer says, exasperatedly.

"Did you think I didn't know?" Brendon says. "Like, all this time you were keeping it a secret from us?"

"It wasn't a big deal," Spencer dumps his plate on the coffee table.

"Are you in love with him?" Brendon asks.

Spencer shrugs. "Sometimes," he says. "Mostly. I don't know. It's not like it matters."

"Spence -" Brendon says.

"It's no big deal." He shakes his head. "It's not a thing, we were never a fucking couple, just shut up about it, okay?"

"You miss him, though," Brendon doesn't give up.

"He was my best friend," Spencer says, softly. "Of course I miss him."

Brendon tears his sandwich in half. He doesn't want any of it. "I don't get it," he says, finally. "You picked me."

"You're my best friend too, and I wanted to play _our_ music." Spencer sighs. "Is this about Jon?"

"No," Brendon says. "Why would it be about Jon?"

Spencer's watching him carefully, and Brendon doesn't duck away from his gaze, even though his cheeks are reddening. "I heard about Cassie and him breaking up."

"So?" Brendon says, and doesn't think about why Spencer didn't tell him about Jon and Cassie. "What does that have to do with me?"

"I don't know," Spencer says. "But I think maybe it does."

"Shut up," Brendon says. He drops the remains of the sandwich down on to Spencer's plate. "That sandwich fucking sucked. I'm going to the store."

"Fine," Spencer says. "Whatever."

"Awesome," Brendon says. This has nothing to do with Jon.

~*~

 

Spencer calls him up when Brendon's angrily pushing a cart down the frozen foods aisle.

"It's just -" he starts, without saying hello. "What the fuck would Ryan and I do if we were together?"

Brendon tugs open the freezer door and dumps a pile of frozen pizzas into the cart. Whatever, it isn't like Spencer and Ryan have been friends their whole lives and been sleeping together for years or anything. They're both fucking idiots.

"I just want to hang out and play video games," Spencer goes on, not waiting for Brendon to say anything. "You think Ryan wants to do that?"

Brendon shrugs. "I don't know," he says, finally.

"He doesn't," Spencer says. "And I don't want to hang out with his friends either, so what's the point?"

"Spence -"

"So what if we can get it up for each other, or whatever," Spencer goes on. "It doesn't matter if we can't even hang out for a weekend without fighting."

"Why don't you just call him?" Brendon asks, softly. Around him people are pushing their carts around, talking and picking out food for themselves or their families. Brendon wonders if he's organizing the break up of what's left of his band.

"You should pick up some lasagna noodles," Spencer says, abruptly "I was going to try out Mom's recipe."

"Spencer -"

"It's not going to work," he says, finally. "Me and Ryan are in different places right now, it's okay."

"It _might_ ," Brendon says, obstinately.

Spencer sighs. "I'll see you at home," he says, and hangs up.

Brendon bites his lip and turns the cart around.

~*~

 

"Ryan's being pissy," Jon says, when Brendon picks up. "Alex says he's been a dick all week."

"Spencer's in love with him," Brendon says abruptly. "You think Ryan could get his head out of his ass long enough to do something about it, or not?"

"Stop being a bitch," Jon says. "Seriously."

Brendon hums. "I never wanted to do this by myself," he says, finally. "You think I can make it as a soloist?"

Jon lets out a long breath. "Brendon -"

"It's okay," Brendon says. His chest hurts. "Sorry. About you and Cassie."

"Thanks," Jon says, softly.

Brendon thinks about Ryan, and Jon, and Spencer, and how his world is shrinking around him. He hasn't spoken to Ryan in months.

"It'll be okay," Jon says, after a minute.

"Is Ryan okay?" Brendon asks. "I mean. I don't know. Is he?"

"Mostly," Jon says. "You should call him."

"Or he could call me." Brendon shrugs his shoulders. He's not going to call first.

"Yeah," Jon says. "Or you could."

Brendon sighs. "I don't want to fight."

"Okay," Jon agrees.

"You think Ryan and Spencer were doing it behind Haley and Keltie's backs?"

"I don't know," Jon says. "Maybe."

Brendon nods. "Spencer thinks it won't work. The two of them. He thinks Ryan doesn't want to play video games."

"Ryan doesn't," Jon says.

"I know," Brendon says. "You remember how much he hated Guitar Hero?"

Jon laughs. "Yeah," he says. "He really hated that."

Brendon breathes in, and then out. "When did you and Cassie -" he trails off.

"A while ago," Jon says. "Last month. It wasn't working."

"Oh," Brendon says. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Jon tells him. "It hurts less now."

Brendon sits down on the end of his bed and kicks off his shoes, flopping back tiredly onto the sheets. He needs to do laundry, but he's too lazy. His sheets feel warm and lived in, but they're starting to smell, too. His mom would yell at him if she were here. He clears his throat.

"What?" Jon asks.

"Nothing," Brendon says. "Just. My mom would kill me if she knew I hadn't done laundry in so long."

"Mom came over a few weeks ago and found me asleep on the floor in the living room," Jon tells him. "I was using a pizza box for a pillow and hugging half a bottle of Bud. She yelled."

"That's pretty lame, dude," Brendon says. "A pizza box? Really?"

"I was wallowing," Jon explains. "Drunk and wallowing."

"Nice," Brendon says.

"I know," Jon says. "I'm a catch. At least I had my pants on, though."

Brendon's stomach twists and stretches, and he closes his eyes for a moment. "Ryan's pissy," he says, changing the subject.

"Yeah. You think he'd be less pissy if he and Spencer figured their shit out?"

Brendon shrugs, and doesn't think about Jon without his pants on. He sits up again. "Maybe. It's worth a shot, right?"

"I guess."

"You think Spencer's pissed because he wishes he'd gone with you guys?" Brendon asks, after a minute where neither of them say anything. "He could have gone."

"Brendon -" Jon says. "Don't talk about him like he's got no fucking creative input, like it doesn't matter which of us he's playing drums with."

Brendon sighs. "I didn't mean -" He stops. "Are you happy?" he asks, finally. He digs his fingertips into his palm and doesn't know what he wants to hear.

"Mostly," Jon says, after a while. "I miss - I miss how things were. Before the fighting."

"We always fought," Brendon says. He lets out a breath, and draws his knee up to his chin.

"Before it got bad," Jon says, softly.

"Yeah," Brendon says, equally quietly. He rests his cheek against his knee.

"I'm coming down in a couple of weeks," Jon says, finally.

"Going back in the studio?"

"Yeah."

Brendon nods. "Cool," he says. "I'm glad it's all going, you know. Well."

"Yeah," Jon says, again.

Neither of them say anything, and Brendon wonders what the fuck happened in his life to get them to this point, this point here, so awkward with each other they can't even have a simple conversation.

"I'll talk to Ryan again," Jon says, after a while. "They can hang out, and you know. Whatever."

"Fuck," Brendon says, helpfully.

"Talk," Jon says, firmly. "Figure out their shit."

"Sounds good," Brendon says. "I'd better go."

"Me too," Jon says, and there's a pause before they both hang up.

Brendon sighs, and flops back down onto the sheets. Bogart noses his way into the room, and jumps up next to him, curling into Brendon's chest and licking his chin. Brendon wraps an arm around him and tugs him even closer, closing his eyes and determinedly not thinking about anything else.

~*~

 

"So, Ryan called me," Spencer says.

Brendon hunches over his cereal bowl and doesn't look up. "Yeah?"

"I didn't know you and Jon were talking again."

"We weren't _not_ talking," Brendon says, stirring his frosted flakes around the bowl. He feels closed-off and caught, startled under Spencer's direct gaze. "We weren't not friends."

"Ryan says you're talking a lot," Spencer goes on.

"A _bit_ ," Brendon says. "We're talking a bit."

"That's good," Spencer says, a little warily. "Is he okay?"

"I think so. How's Ryan?"

"Good," Spencer says. "He's good."

"Well then." Brendon shrugs, and takes a mouthful of cereal. "Everything's awesome."

Spencer leans over and rubs Brendon's shoulder, and Brendon lets himself lean into the touch.

"I'm glad you're talking again," Spencer says, softly.

"Yeah," Brendon says, without looking up. "Me too."

~*~

 

"You know, I'm pretty sure that we don't need to have this conversation, but we're having it anyway, okay?"

Brendon takes his phone away from his ear, stares down at it for a moment, and then puts it back to his ear. "Jon?" he says.

"Yeah, hey," Jon says. "So, I've been thinking, and I'm pretty sure that I don't need to say this, but I'm saying it anyway."

"You said," Brendon says, awkwardly. There's a flicker of worry deep in his belly, anticipatory and tense.

"You know, when the band, uh, split up. We weren't leaving _you_. You get that, right?"

Brendon's hand balls into a fist. He presses it down into the couch cushions until the knuckles turn white. "Leaving me, leaving the band," he says, as lightly as he can. "Same difference, right?"

"Brendon, _no_."

"No, seriously," Brendon says. "It doesn't matter, it's fine. But you know, that's a crock of shit, right?"

"No," Jon says, "it was musical differences, Bren, that's all it was."

"I know, I know," Brendon interrupts. "You've said. Everyone's said. Its fine. You either want to make music with someone or you don't, and you didn't, and Ryan didn't, and that's fine. It's fine."

"It wasn't -"

"You didn't call," Brendon says, cutting Jon off. "You left and you didn't call and fuck musical differences, fuck that shit, I thought we were _friends_."

"We were," Jon says, helplessly. "We _are_."

"Sure," Brendon says, "I know, it's okay. It's fine." He bunches up his shirt in his fist. "Look, I have to go. I left the burner on."

There's a long pause, and then Jon says softly, "Okay," and Brendon hangs up. He boots up the Wii and plays Super Mario Galaxy until his eyes hurt.

~*~

 

Brendon gets a text message in the middle of the night. It says, _you didnt call either_.

No, Brendon thinks. He didn't.

He hides his phone under the pillow and turns the TV on so that he doesn't have to think about the weird, desperate feeling in his belly.

~*~

 

In the end, he gives up trying to sleep and heads down to the kitchen to make coffee. He's reading this stupid book about backstabbing media starlets that he'd found at Pete and Ashlee's; Ashlee had claimed ownership but Brendon's found notes in the margins he's pretty sure are Pete's. He makes himself a bowl of cereal and starts flicking through the book lazily, and then there's a noise in the hallway.

He turns around and finds Ryan standing in the entrance to the kitchen, buttoning up his shirt.

"Uh," Brendon manages.

"Brendon," Ryan says. "Hey."

"Hey," Brendon says. "You're here. In my house."

"Yeah," Ryan says, "I guess."

"You're getting dressed in my kitchen," Brendon says, and Ryan glances upstairs, briefly.

"Oh," Brendon says, stupidly. "Right." He wonders if Spencer's still asleep, if Ryan's sneaking out without Spencer even knowing. He wonders when Ryan got here, and why he didn't know. If Spencer sneaked him in so that Brendon wouldn't hear.

Ryan tugs on his jacket.

"You're leaving," Brendon says. He blinks. "What, really? Like this?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Ryan says, buttoning his jacket. "So stop thinking you do."

Brendon bangs his mug down. "You want coffee?" he asks. "You should stay. Have coffee."

Ryan shakes his head. "No," he says. "I can't."

"No," Brendon echoes. "Right, yeah. No, I get it."

"No," Ryan says. "You don't."

Brendon doesn't. He hasn't spoken to Ryan in months, and now Ryan doesn't even want to stay. "You're a fucking dick," he says, because it still fucking _hurts_. It hurts more, knowing that Ryan was in his house and sneaking the fuck out and if he hadn't been down here not being able to sleep he wouldn't have even _known_.

"Yeah," Ryan says, softly.

"No," Spencer says, from the doorway. He looks half asleep, in a pair of shorts and a robe. He never wears a fucking robe. "Brendon, don't."

"Don't _what_ ," Brendon says, under his breath. He pours himself more coffee, slamming his mug down with more force than necessary. "No, actually, whatever. Do what the fuck you want. I don't care."

"I've got to go," Ryan says, and Brendon doesn't look up. He stares down at his coffee and tries not to blink and tries not to think about how Ryan can't even stay and have a fucking _drink_ with him. He was stupid to even try. "Brendon -"

Brendon grips the table edge tightly. "There's some stuff that's yours," he says. "You left it here. Back then. You should take it with you. I'll get it for you."

"I'll get it," Spencer says. "Sit down, Brendon. Ryan, don't go anywhere."

"I've got to -" Ryan says.

"You can wait a minute," Spencer says. "For me."

Brendon sinks back down into his chair. He picks up Pete and Ashlee's book again, and pretends to stare at the page, but all he can think is that Ryan is in his kitchen, _Ryan_ , and he doesn't want to be here.

Ryan taps his fingers against the table. "So," Ryan says, after a minute. "How have you been?"

"Fine," Brendon says, finally. "I've been fine."

"Good," Ryan says. "I mean. That's good. That you're fine."

"I thought you had to go," Brendon says, nastily. He turns the page of his book, even though he hasn't read a word.

"Right," Ryan says, awkwardly. He leans against the wall and gets his phone out and Brendon wants to be anywhere in the whole world but here.

When Spencer comes back, the room is tense and silent and hot. Brendon's eyes sting and he's not convinced he doesn't hate Ryan right now.

"Here," Spencer says, and he hands Ryan a bag. Brendon knows that there are a couple of books inside, a notebook, and a bong Brendon's sure he never wants to use again. He wishes he'd thrown the whole pile away, but he hadn't, so.

He sneaks a look up and Ryan's leaning in, pressing his mouth to the corner of Spencer's, and Spencer's kissing him back. Brendon _knows_ how long this has been going on between the two of them, now, but this is the first time he's ever seen them together like this. It's weird.

"I have to go," Ryan says, softly, and Spencer nods.

"Yeah," he says.

Neither of them promise to call.

Brendon waits until he hears the front door close before he grabs his stuff and goes back upstairs; he hears Spencer come up the stairs behind him, but Brendon shuts his bedroom door pretty firmly, and Spencer doesn't try and come in.

~*~

 

His phone buzzes with a text message after lunch. It's from Ryan, and it says, _if i called, wud u pick up_.

Brendon types, _no_ , but doesn't press send. He deletes it and hides the phone down the side of his bed.

~*~

 

"He was picking me up from the airport," Jon says, as soon as Brendon answers his phone. "That's why he couldn't stay."

"Yeah?" Brendon says. He's watching Spencer in the yard with Bogart out of his bedroom window; Spencer's shoulders are drawn and tense. "That's great. Him keeping that a secret really made that whole first conversation in months thing go a whole lot better. I should give him points for style."

"Don't be a dick," Jon says. "He figured he was doing me a favor."

"How so, exactly," Brendon says. He taps on the window with his knuckles; Bogart starts to bark and Spencer chews at his lip and stares up at him. Brendon waves, awkwardly, and Spencer waves back.

"I don't know," Jon says, softly. "You and me, you know. We're kind of fucked up."

"We're all fucked up," Brendon says. He pauses. "You think Ryan's in love with Spencer?"

There's a long silence. "I'm pretty sure he is, yeah," Jon tells him, after a while.

Brendon nods, and rests his forehead against the window. Spencer's throwing a ball for Bogart.

"He didn't know if I'd told you I was coming into town," Jon says. "He didn't want you to find out from him. He was trying to do a good thing."

"It didn't feel good," Brendon admits. "It just hurt."

"Yeah," Jon says. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Brendon says, automatically. He doesn't know whose fault it is, though. Maybe they're all trying to do good things.

"I'm in town," Jon says.

Brendon swallows. Outside, Spencer's waving at him again, beckoning him down, Bogart jumping around his feet. "Yeah," he says, softly.

"I could -" Jon starts. "Maybe I could call you when we're done in the studio."

Brendon nods. "Yeah. I'd. Yeah. That'd be good."

"We could..." Jon trails off. "We could hang out."

"Catch up," Brendon says, softly. His heart's beating loud in his chest.

"Awesome," Jon says. "I'll call."

~*~

 

Brendon stares down at his phone for a while, and then carefully types, _if i called u would u pick up_. He scrolls down until he finds Ryan's name, and the presses send.

~*~

 

Ryan's answer comes a half hour later. It says, _y_ , and Brendon takes a deep breath and presses call.

It rings too many times; Brendon's about to hang up when Ryan finally answers.

"Jon says you were trying to do him a favor," Brendon says, and Ryan's answer is an intake of breath.

"Yeah," he says, after a moment. "I figured. I didn't know where you and Jon were, I didn't want to fuck that up."

"We're not anywhere," Brendon says, and picks at the knee of his jeans. "We're just. I don't know."

"You're talking again," Ryan says. "That's good."

"I guess," Brendon says, awkwardly. It is good, he knows it is. It's _Jon_.

"And I was embarrassed," Ryan says. "Getting caught sneaking out of Spencer's room like that. I didn't know you knew. It felt weird."

Brendon sighs. "Are you and he -" he stops. "We all knew."

"We're not -" Ryan doesn't say anything for a while. "Spencer doesn't want to do the stuff I do," he says, finally.

"And you don't want to do the stuff he does," Brendon says, rolling his eyes. "I get it, but it's stupid."

"No," Ryan says. "I don't care that Spencer does different shit to me. I just. I don't know. Maybe I hold him back."

Brendon bites his lip and tries not to think about his band. "I don't think he thinks that. Like, at all." He wonders why the only conversation he and Ryan have managed to have in months is about _Spencer_. Maybe it's because Spencer is a safe topic; they both want what's best for him. But Brendon thinks about the remains of his band and how the only thing he has left is his best friend, and he feels a tug of something strong and painful in his belly as he considers the possibility of losing him, back to Ryan and Jon. Brendon doesn't want to be alone.

Ryan hums. "Has he been okay?"

"I guess," Brendon says. "It's like. We're good? And the band is good. We're having fun. But he doesn't have you."

"I don't have him, either," Ryan says, after a while. "And you don't have Jon."

Brendon breathes in and out, listening to the way the sound echoes down the phone line.

He wants to say, _Jon doesn't want me_ , or even, _I don't want Jon_ , but he's always wanted him. "This isn't about me and Jon," he says, finally.

"It could be," Ryan says. He sighs. "Fuck, you think we could get along again if we sort this shit out?"

"What," Brendon says, "me and you?"

"Yeah."

"We get along," Brendon lies, and Ryan laughs. It's been a long time since Brendon heard that. He's missed it. "Look, just. Don't get fake-married again, okay? Spencer was a fucking mess after that."

There's a long pause. "I didn't think," Ryan says, hesitantly. "I never thought he'd take it seriously."

"He did," Brendon says, softly. "He really fucking did."

Ryan's voice shakes. "I would never -" he says. "This is why we're not a good idea, okay? This."

"I think maybe sometimes you're happier together than apart," Brendon says. "That should count for something."

"I think we haven't spoken in months," Ryan says. "I think we're all fucked up and a total frigging mess and you're in love with Jon."

Brendon's chest hurts. "And you're in love with Spencer, and Spencer's in love with you, and you're fucking it up. Fuck, you can _have_ this. Don't you get how _lucky_ you are?"

Ryan sighs. "You think we'll ever get tired of hurting each other?"

"That would be good," Brendon says, softly. He picks at his jeans again; the threads are fraying and he digs his fingernail in, trying to catch one and pull. "Next time you should stay for coffee, okay?"

"I'm trying not to drink caffeine," Ryan says.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he says, because Ryan tries to give up coffee every year, and it never works out. "You should stay. Hang out. Whatever."

"Okay," Ryan says, after a minute. "Okay, I'll stay."

"Good," Brendon manages, and Ryan doesn't say anything for a while.

"I have to go," Ryan says, eventually, and Brendon nods his agreement.

"We should -" Brendon says, at the same time as Ryan says, _I'll call_. "Yeah," Brendon agrees, letting out a long breath. "Okay."

He stays holding the phone for a long time after Ryan's hung up.

~*~

 

He can't have been asleep for long when Jon calls.

"Do you want to get eggs?" Jon asks, and Brendon wipes the sleep out of his eyes and blinks a few times.

"What?" he manages.

"Eggs," Jon says, again. "Remember that place we went to? When Ryan got his place? That diner. With the eggs."

Brendon remembers. Jon had called Cassie to tell her about how great that place was. The pancakes had been nice.

"We should go there," Jon says, and Brendon squints at the clock to see what time it is. A little after two.

"Now?" he asks, stupidly.

"Yeah," Jon says. "We could have breakfast."

"It's the middle of the night," Brendon says carefully. His heart is beating loud in his chest.

"Yeah," Jon says, "and I fucking miss you. Come have breakfast with me."

Brendon swallows. He thinks, _miss you too_. "How long do you think it'd take to get there from here?"

"I don't know," Jon says. "I'm here already. I'll wait."

Brendon nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay. I won't be long."

Jon breathes out, long and loud. "Yeah," he says. "I'll be here."

~*~

 

"What if I'd said no?" Brendon asks, when he gets inside the diner and sees Jon in the corner. "Or if I hadn't answered my phone?"

Jon shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "I would have been sitting here a long time, I guess."

Brendon nods. "Well," he says. "I'm glad you didn't have to sit here all night by yourself."

Jon swallows. "Brendon, fuck. Look, sit down. Sit down. I'll order us eggs, or something." He has a cup of coffee in front of him; it's mostly empty, and there are four empty sugar sachets by his hand. "I'll get us some more coffee, too."

Brendon bites his lip. His stomach is flip-flopping; he hasn't seen Jon in months, and even then they'd been fighting and stressed and the tension had stretched away between them, razor sharp and painful. Now Jon looks different; a little scruffier, his eyes tired. Brendon wonders if he's still missing Cassie, if he wants her back.

The waitress comes over and Jon orders eggs for them both, and pancakes, and Brendon asks for bacon and syrup as well. She's tired too, her mascara in smudgy shadows under her eyes. She offers Jon a refill and Brendon a fresh cup.

"It's been a while," Brendon says, thinking about the last time they were here, all four of them and Shane, celebrating Ryan's new place. How things were beginning to be not right then, too, but none of them had wanted to talk about it.

"Too long," Jon says, and Brendon doesn't know whether he and Jon are talking about the same thing. It's the middle of the fucking night.

"Do you miss her?" Brendon asks, because the last time they were here Jon had disappeared to talk to Cassie, and Brendon had tried not to show that he'd cared.

"Brendon -" Jon says, awkwardly. Brendon stirs too much sugar into his coffee. "Of course I fucking miss her," he says, finally. "She was my girlfriend. I loved her."

"She was nice," Brendon says, because she was. It had never been Cassie's fault that Brendon had been in love with her boyfriend.

"Yeah," Jon says. "She really fucking was."

"Sucks," Brendon says, finally. It's been like this for years, Jon wanting something - someone - more than he wants Brendon. It's not new. Nothing's fucking new, apart from them not seeing each other in months.

"You think if I'd tried harder, I could have kept on loving her?" Jon asks, after a minute. He sounds frustrated and, well. Angry, even.

Brendon bites his lip. "What?" he asks. His heart's thumping in his chest; he probably shouldn't drink coffee in the middle of the night. His pulse rockets.

Jon shrugs. "I mean. It's not like I didn't try. I tried, Brendon."

"I know," Brendon says, awkwardly. He doesn't, but he's pretty sure it's true anyway.

"You weren't even _there_ ," Jon says, finally. "You weren't even there and you were coming between us, how is that even _fair_ , Brendon?"

Brendon's head shoots up. "What?" he says. "What the fuck? How is this my fault?"

"Because it's always _you_ ," Jon says. "It's always fucking been you. And it used to be okay because I at least had a part of you. The band part. And then -" he stops. "No band, no you. It had to fall apart, and it's not fair because you weren't even _there_."

Brendon swallows. "You're talking crap," he says, softly. His knuckles tighten on the edge of the table top. "Don't blame the band splitting up for you and Cassie falling apart, that's a fucking shitty thing to do."

"I'm not blaming the band," Jon says, equally quietly. "I'm blaming you."

Brendon pushes his mug across the table and stands up. "This was a bad idea," he says, and drops a twenty onto the table. He doesn't have anything smaller. "I shouldn't have come."

When he leaves, Jon doesn't follow him.

~*~

 

He stands out in the parking lot with his arms wrapped around himself. He's cold, and he sort of maybe wants to punch something, or to yell, or maybe both. He doesn't know where his car keys are and he thinks he might have left them inside, on the table next to his coffee.

He doesn't want to go back in.

He stamps his foot, frustrated, because this isn't fair. None of it is fair; they just wanted to make different music, that's all, and somehow that ended up with none of them talking to each other, and all this _hurt_. Brendon's tired of it hurting.

"I'm sorry," Jon says, from behind him. "I should never -"

"No," Brendon says. "It's not my fault your fucking relationship screwed itself up, okay?"

"No, Jon echoes. "I know. I'm sorry. Come back in. Finish your coffee. Have some eggs. Talk to me."

"Are you going to blame me for you and Cassie again?" Brendon asks.

"No," Jon says.

"I left my car keys on the table," Brendon admits, and Jon holds the door open for him as they walk back inside. Jon's holding his keys, and he hands them over to Brendon with a rueful smile.

"I'm a dick," Jon says. "Sorry."

"Me too," Brendon says. "Sorry."

"It's just -" Jon starts, sinking back into his seat at their table. "It was just music," he says finally. "Our songs weren't your songs."

"I know," Brendon nods, sitting down and reaching for the twenty he'd dropped there a minute earlier. He slips it into his pocket. "I wish they were."

"Me too," Jon pushes his mug back and forth between his fingers. "I broke up with Cassie because of you."

Brendon nods again. His chest hurts a little. "I know," he says. "You said."

"No," Jon shakes his head. "I broke up with her because of _you_. Because I didn't love her anymore."

Brendon swallows. His heart is beating so loud he can barely hear over it, a solid thump-thump in his chest. "I thought you weren't going to blame me for that anymore," he manages, finally.

"I'm not _blaming_ you," Jon tells him, frustratedly. "I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you."

Brendon's head shoots up, his mouth falling open. "What," he says.

The waitress brings over their pancakes, and they just sit there, staring at each other as she serves them their eggs. Brendon cant even manage a _thank you_.

"What," he says again, once she's left them to it.

Jon shrugs. "I'm in love with you."

"Since _when_?" Brendon asks.

"I don't know." Jon pushes his eggs around his plate with his fork. "Since a while."

"Oh," Brendon says, softly. He cuts his pancakes into pieces, and leans his knife up against the side of his plate.

"You should say something," Jon says.

Brendon swallows. "You couldn't have figured this out when we were in the same fucking band?"

"I could have," Jon says. "But then the band splitting would have screwed us over too."

"It did," Brendon says, pushing his pancakes into the pool of maple syrup at the side of his plate. "It fucked us up."

"But we're here," Jon says. "Now."

"Yeah," Brendon says, softly. He nods, and Jon flushes pink and ducks his head.

"You should say something back," Jon prompts, awkwardly.

"The pancakes are good," Brendon tells him. He's not sure he can even remember what they taste like.

Jon puts his fork down. "Not about the pancakes. About - the other thing."

"I'm here," Brendon says. "It's the middle of the fucking night and you called me up and said, _come get eggs_ , and I'm here."

"And," Jon bites his lip.

"I never thought you'd want me back," Brendon says, finally. "All this time. I never thought you'd want me back."

"How long?" Jon asks, after a minute. His voice is hoarse.

Brendon takes a bite of his pancake. There's too much syrup, it's too sweet. "A while," he says, staring down at his plate. "Like. Forever, I guess."

"Brendon -"

"A while," Brendon repeats, fiercely. "Fuck. A long time, okay?"

"Before we went to the cabin?" Jon persists.

"Before you were in the fucking _band_ ," Brendon snaps. He doesn't know why he's suddenly mad, but he is.

"Fuck," Jon says, softly. "You never said."

"Neither did you."

"All that time," Jon says.

"Why did you even tell me now?" Brendon asks. He thinks it's probably worse than it was before, now that he knows. Sometimes he hates Jon, and he hates himself because he could never stop fucking loving him, even though they weren't talking and everything had gone to shit and Brendon wanted not to care.

"Because -" Jon shrugs. "I'm miserable without you," he says. "I miss you."

"Yeah," Brendon says. He's not hungry anymore. He puts his fork down. "Look," he says. "Give me a minute, okay?"

Jon nods, and Brendon pulls back his chair and grabs his jacket and goes outside. He sits on the hood of his car and calls Spencer; it's the middle of the fucking night but Spencer very rarely switches his phone off.

It takes Spencer a while to answer, and when he does, he sounds worried. "Brendon?"

"You and Ryan," Brendon says, quickly. "Is it worth it?"

"Brendon -" There's the rustle of bedclothes and a long sigh. "Where the fuck are you?"

"With Jon," Brendon says. "I can't -" he stops. "He broke up with Cassie for me."

"Oh." Spencer lets out a breath. "You okay?"

"Does it work?" Brendon asks, desperately. "You and Ryan?"

"Not all of the time," Spencer says. "We make each other miserable, sometimes."

"But the rest of the time?"

There's a long pause. "It works," Spencer says, softly. "It really fucking works."

"Okay," Brendon says. He taps his fingers against his jeans and watches Jon through the diner window. He's wanted Jon for so fucking long, it's almost a part of him. He's so used to the way want feels, there on the peripheries of everything, always. He hisses in a breath. "Do you ever think you wish you'd gone with them?"

"No," Spencer says. "Do you?"

Brendon remembers the tense, taut silences as the four of them had tried to figure out their musical direction, and how for a while there, it had felt like things could never be good again. About how they had been, after. "No," he says. "Not ever."

"Yeah," Spencer says. Neither of them say anything. "Jon probably thinks you've left him already," Spencer says, after a while.

Brendon sighs. "You should get back to sleep," he says.

"I think maybe I'll just call Ryan," Spencer says. "He probably hasn't gone to bed yet."

"Ask him over," Brendon says. "See if you can't get him to stay."

Spencer laughs. "Okay," he says. "Man up and go tell Jon what you want."

"Yeah," Brendon says. "That."

~*~

 

Inside, Jon's ripping open sugar packets and tipping them onto the table top. He swirls them into patterns with his finger; Brendon watches him for a moment before sliding into the seat opposite.

"Sorry," he says.

"No," Jon says, still drawing in the sugar. "Me. I shouldn't -" he trails off. "Where did you go?"

"To call Spence," Brendon says. "He doesn't want to join your band."

"That's good," Jon says, softly. "We didn't ask him to."

"I know," Brendon says lightly. "But I had to check."

"Okay," Jon says. "About before. I just -"

"I really fucking missed you," Brendon says, quickly. "All the time. It's like - you didn't call. Not once."

"Come back with me," Jon says. "Now. Come back to Ryan's place and stay the night."

"Jon -"

"I'm asking you," Jon says, and his jaw is tight and his shoulders are tense and things are still a total fucking mess. "Please, come back with me."

Brendon tilts his chin up. He nods.

Jon watches him for a moment, eyes serious. "Okay," he says, and he drops a couple of bills down on the table top.

"Yeah," Brendon says, "okay."

~*~

 

Brendon follows Jon's car back to Ryan's place. He's nervous, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, changing the station over and over. He loses Jon at an intersection and thinks about turning the car around and going home; he wonders what Ryan and Spencer are doing now, and remembers Spencer's, _it really fucking works_.

He calls Jon on his cell, propping the phone up on the dash and hoping the hands free still works.

"You're not behind me," Jon says, when he picks up.

"Got stuck at the intersection," Brendon says.

"Okay," Jon says. "I figured you'd changed your mind."

"No," Brendon says. He's nervous and anticipatory and tense and scared. His stomach rolls. "Look. It's like. I don't know what it's like to not love you."

"Brendon -"

"No, seriously. I don't remember. So this is basically a huge fucking deal to me, and I figured you should know that. Before we, you know."

"It's a huge fucking deal to me, too," Jon says, after a moment. "You think I don't know that?"

"No," Brendon says, "I know you do. I just. Spencer says he and Ryan really work. I want that."

"I know," Jon says. "Me too."

Brendon waits a beat before saying anything. "Are you home yet?"

"Just pulling in," Jon says.

"I'm two minutes behind you," Brendon says, and doesn't hang up. Jon doesn't say anything, and Brendon listens to the sounds of Jon climbing out of his car and unlocking Ryan's front door, and dropping his keys down on the table. When he turns into Ryan's driveway, Ryan's car isn't there, and Brendon hopes he's with Spencer, that they're figuring out some way to make the two of them work, or maybe just falling asleep in the same place together. He parks up behind Jon's car, and when he looks up, Jon's leaning up against the open front door. He's holding his phone.

"Hey," Brendon says, softly, picking up his phone and switching off hands-free. He sits in the car and doesn't make a move to climb out.

"Hey," Jon says. "Are you coming inside?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, and he fumbles for his keys and climbs out, still not hanging up. He can hear Jon breathing.

He walks up to the door, still clutching his phone, and watches as Jon hangs up.

"Hey," Jon says, again, and Brendon stuffs his phone into his pocket and rocks on the balls of his feet.

Then Jon steps back inside the house and opens his arms and it's easy to close the distance between them, for Brendon to slide his fingers into Jon's hair and press his forehead to Jon's, the warmth of Jon's breath against his mouth.

Jon nudges at Brendon's nose with his own, and then he's touching his mouth to Brendon's, and Brendon makes a soft sound in his throat and kisses him back. He kicks the door shut behind them, and Jon's hands slide down into the hollow of Brendon's back, pulling him closer.

"Come upstairs," Jon says, and Brendon nods against Jon's mouth and kisses him again.

~*~

 

Brendon wakes up late, pressed against Jon's side, Jon's arm heavy across his chest.

"Hey," Brendon says, still a little groggy.

Jon smiles sleepily. "Hey."

Brendon rubs his nose against Jon's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jon says, "I think I am."

Brendon rolls onto his side and presses his mouth to Jon's. "Me too," he says softly, and he shifts closer and closes his eyes again.

 

[END]


End file.
